Sunrise
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Far in the future, Jacob and Edward cross paths. SLASH Edward/Jacob Yes I actually wrote this pairing. Don't judge me for going mainstream.


**Sunrise**

O

My heart was hammering painfully, as if I'd been running. It's true what they used to say, I thought. A nightmare can kill you.

There was no point in trying to sleep again, so I got up and ran the water for a bath. Half-heartedly, I began to pack my few belongings. When that was finished, I stood looking out the window, listening to the clatter of water as it gushed to fill the porcelain tub in the ensuite bathroom.

It is not my first Christmas alone, but it doesn't get any less lonely with the passing of time. I wonder, for the hundredth time, how the vampires can stand the horror and emptiness of outliving your family. Perhaps, lacking the circulation of blood to the heart, their feelings are distant and dulled, less like the piercing of glass that I continue to feel no matter how much time escapes me.

How old am I? I'm not sure anymore. I stopped paying attention to that shortly after the fifth generation of Rebecca's descendents died out, taking the last of my family with them in their sterility. I no longer try to stay on the cutting edge, or even relevant. I listen to the changing nuances of language and follow them; that is all. Beyond that, I am the same.

I never meant to live this long. Somehow, when I was still truly young and appropriately stupid, I thought that I would meet my imprint at any moment. Any stranger was a potential soul mate. That hope burned strong for years and years, but as my old pack mates began first to age and then to return to the earth from where they'd sprung, that hope flickered and dimmed.

I no longer believe that my imprint exists. Who could possibly find an anachronism like me attractive?

The bathwater is hot enough to burn, and the Epsom salts fizz quietly as I sink further into its comforting arms. Young as my body remains, age has taught me to maintain the machine that carries my spirit forward. Staying alive, avoiding pain, wandering the remotest regions of the earth: these are my pleasures and my pursuits.

An old woman, dressed in a cream-colored maid's uniform, is in the hall as I exit my suite. I watch her as I lock the door behind me. Her hands are all twisted out of shape. When she takes hold of a mop or a broom handle, the hands look like dried stems of an old creeping vine clinging to a branch.

She doesn't know how fortunate she is to be old, to feel the imminence of death.

As he passes her by, he pauses a moment to press a generous tip into her ancient hands with a smile. Her eyes crinkle and she bares two rows of bright gold incisors. He shuddered involuntarily as he took the stairs down to the lobby. Try as he might, some of the changes in fashion still unsettled him. The distended earlobes, blue eyes, pierced knuckles, and enormous height of those who'd chosen to surgically elongate their limbs seemed just as alien today as they did a hundred years ago when they first came into vogue.

The girl behind the counter is well-dressed in a suit of spun emerald silk with a bright pink Mohawk of hair like a Roman soldier's helmet. She smiles at him as he hands over his key, but he can see (and smell) her hidden confusion at his appearance. At this time, his utilitarian clothing and unaltered physique make him stick out like a sore thumb.

He self-consciously ran a hand through his short un-dyed hair as he waited for her to confirm that his pass card had transferred the necessary funds. The lobby was made entirely of glass, and was lined by massive fish tanks that served as both decoration and farming for the hotel kitchens.

He sweated a little as the minutes ticked by. His pass was illegally acquired, as was the organic glove that allowed him to falsify his handprint. He didn't usually function within civilized areas of the world; it was too regulated, too recorded. The shadowy places where people like him, people who did not color within the lines of humanity, could hide were disappearing. Sooner or later there would be nowhere to run.

The pass was confirmed. The girl smiled at him again. He judged her age to be somewhere around forty, maybe forty-five. That was considered young now, though he still couldn't believe it. The increased age expectancy of even the poorest countries to beyond two centuries was one of the most bizarre developments of the modern world.

Would he someday be surrounded by fellow quasi-immortals? He hoped not.

At the door he nearly collided with an entering figure. He started to apologize but trailed off as soon as he realized that he recognized the man.

"Cullen?"

Edward's hair was navy blue and he wore a suit of iridescent fabric that gave one the impression of the sea. His amber-colored eyes went wider than Jacob thought possible, and his lips parted to reveal fashionably-pointed teeth.

"Jacob Black?"

Neither of them could think of anything to say. They were mutually stunned by the sight of each other. Jacob remembered the last time he'd seen Edward. It was nearly a thousand years ago, the day he married Bella Swan.

"Wow. Just…I…are you going somewhere? Do you have someplace to be?"

Jacob shook his head, "No, I was just going to explore the city."

"Do you want to go somewhere with me? To talk about old times? It's been so long since I've seen anyone from the old days."

"Yes, alright. That would nice."

They went into the garden, the least-surveilled area of the hotel, and began to stroll through the organized hexagons of greenery. Pussy willows fought for space beside cacti, and corn grew tall beside genetically modified squash and persimmons. The plants had been watered recently. The grasses hanging on the wall face were still dewy. Ancient psych-pop from the 3400s played softly in the background, and artificial sunshine shone down on the crystal-strewn paths. The sun had yet to rise.

The scent of orange peels lingered in Edward's wake, a truly exotic scent since the modification of oranges into something so different from their original form. There was no hint of the unpleasant stench that had once repulsed him. There was nothing but smooth and polished elegance, as befit the contemporary egalitarian individual. Jacob felt severely underdressed beside him, garbed as he was in a denim shirt, wrinkled brown chinos, and scuffed black work boots.

They settled beneath a lime tree teeming with scent that almost seemed like a voice speaking.

Neither spoke. Old men inside their ageless bodies, they examined one another with uncritical eyes. Finally, Jacob asked, "How is Bella?"

"She was devoured four hundred years ago by a giant white tiger that transformed into a man shortly after consuming her. He spit out her ringed finger and vanished before I could retaliate. I hunted him for decades but found no sign of his existence."

Jacob felt something inside his chest shrivel with pain. He began to weep, soundlessly, for the girl he once thought he loved. Each falling tear was warm, like blood, as they landed on his spread palms. Jacob wasn't a man to make frivolous emotional displays. He liked to keep that powder dry in case he'd need it at other times.

Edward laid his hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry. I did not think to share it in gentler words. It's just that one cannot discount the unpleasant things of this world merely by looking away, so I saw no point in mincing words."

Jacob waved away his apology. "No, you were right to tell me outright. I guess that I just never expected to outlive her. All these years, I assumed she was somewhere out there, with you, living her life…or whatever it is that you call existing as a vampire."

"I can imagine," Edward removed his hand from Jacob's square shoulder and watched the progress of natural sunlight as it replaced the artificial substitute, "Sometimes, I can't tell about things. I can't tell what's real and what's not real…what things really happened and what things didn't really happen. Sometimes I forget that she is gone, and I will turn to speak to her, or call her name as though she's in the other room. Except that no one answers. And then sometimes it will be as though we were never in love, never married. I guess grief doesn't follow in order, does it- A, B, C, D? It just sort of goes where it feels like going."

Jacob hummed his acknowledgment. His grief had exhausted itself.

"And how is the rest of your family?"

"They are also gone. One after the other, slowly, they died their final deaths."

"So it's just you?"

"Just me. And you? Where is your pack?"

"Dead. Long, long dead. I am the last of the pure-blooded American natives. Did you know that?"

Edward shook his head, "No, I didn't."

Without ceremony, he took Jacob's hand and squeezed it. Jacob squeezed back. It felt natural to be sitting here, together, in peace. Time salves all wounds, and their fighting in the old days was so long ago now, a distant memory of childish hatred and confusion.

"You look good. I'd forgotten what unaltered people looked like- your fresh face is really something, you know?"

Jacob smiled. "Thanks. You've changed."

He shrugged, "Times change, and I did what I had to do to remain unobtrusive."

"Change suits you."

Edward turned to him, and communicated something with his eyes that Jacob initially resisted before realizing that there was no reason to be lonely when someone offered a hand of companionship.

He kisses him, hands on either side of his navy-blue hair.

To the south the sky was opening into a high gray overcast, and where the clouds were rubbed thin, the streaks of sky were almost blue.

One day you'll discover for yourself how strength seeps away, leaving only loneliness.

O


End file.
